“I'll find a ball,” Jake offered, shedding his jacket, and walked to racks of bowling balls.
The three women managed to drag their gaze from Jake's butt to Robin and eyed her curiously. “What'd you say your name was?”
“Robin.”
They all waited for Jake to come back.
He was back in a moment, plopped himself down next to Sue with a devastating smile, which charmed the skintight, butterfly-appliqued stretch pants right off of her. She giggled at something he said about the shoes, turned red as a beet when he declared that he couldn't possibly hope to beat someone who came with her own bowling shirt. Sylvia and Reba were drooling, too. Well, at least she shared one thing in common with these women, Robin thought—they all thought Jake was a hunk. And when the hunk had finished changing shoes, he stood up, announced his intention to help Robin find a ball, grabbed her by the elbow, and marched her forward.
When they were out of earshot of the women, he said, “All right, it is definitely time to get over yourself. Are you going to be miserable all afternoon, or are you at least going to attempt to hide your loathing?”
“I don't loathe them!” she protested.
“Oh yeah? Well, you look like you'd just as soon drive head-on into a brick wall. Now put your shoes on and stop acting like you're above bowling, because you're not. You put on your shoes one foot at a time just like everyone else in this joint,” he said sternly and picked up a ball. “Here. Stick your fingers in there.”
“I'm going to ruin my nails,” she pouted as she stuck them inside three holes.
“You can buy more. What do you think, does it feel okay? Not too heavy?”
She shrugged. He groaned, pointed her back to the table with her ball, her shoes, and her handbag. Robin sat gingerly next to Reba and forced herself to smile. “You bowl a lot?” Reba asked.
“Ah… no.”
“Have you ever bowled?” Sylvia asked, grinning at Sue's horrified little snicker.
Okeydokey, here they went. “Once.” The three women looked at each other. Robin bent over, slipped off Cole Haan flats, and, with a grimace, forced herself to slide her foot into one bowling shoe, then the other.
“Can we take a couple of practice rounds?” Jake asked as he breezed by.
“Sure!” Sue all but shouted, and came to her feet, waddled over to the carousel, and picked up a flaming pink ball.
“This oughta be good,” Sylvia said, sniggering with Reba.
It was good. Jake brought the ball up to his nose, gracefully glided to the edge of the lane, one leg sweeping long behind him as he went down and let the ball roll from his fingers. Much to Robin's surprise, he knocked all the pins down.
“Strike!” shrieked Reba.
Jake turned around, grinning from ear to ear, sooo pleased with himself. “Ladies, I do believe I am ready to go,” he said proudly, and smiled as the three of them came clamoring forward to bowl their practice rounds.
Surprisingly, the women bowled as expertly (and almost as gracefully!) as Jake. Reba was the last to lumber up to the line, and in movement that seemed to defy physics, knocked all the pins down except two, which she managed to hit with the next ball.
Then all heads swiveled, Exorcist-like, toward Robin. Jake motioned for her to come up. Damn. She had bowled once in her life. Once. And not one to relish making a complete ass of herself, Robin swallowed a lump in her throat,
stood, and walked stiffly in the funky shoes to where Jake was standing.
Jake put his hands on his hips. “You'll need a ball.”
Well, he damn sure didn't have to smirk when he said it. Robin pivoted like a robot, went to the carousel and picked up the blue ball he had selected for her, and walked back to the line.
“Relax,” Jake said. “This isn't Chinese water torture. Just line it up and let go.”
“I think I can figure out how to bowl,” she said sharply.
Jake frowned, leaned over her shoulder. “Listen, woman, do you want this company? If you don't, then let's just ask one of these nice ladies for a ride back to the airstrip and get the hell out of here. If you do want this company, then I strongly suggest you get that chip off your fur sashi shoulder and lighten up. Whatever you might think, you aren't too goddam good to bowl!”
“And just who are you, Handyman? My conscience?”
“Fine,” he muttered and stepped back. “Be a bitch about it. You're up.”
Bitch. Bitch. Oh yeah, she was up, all right. So far up that when she was done with him, she was going to leave his dismembered body all over Louisiana . Robin lifted the ball, eyed the pins down the lane, took two steps forward, and let the ball fly.
Only it flew across the lane, popped up out of the gutter, and went sailing down the next lane, where it ricocheted off the pin gate and disappeared into a hole on the side. Dumbfounded by her incompetence, Robin stood there, wondering if this latest episode of The Twilight Zone was ever going to end.
“Serves you right, you know that. But okay, don't freak out,” she heard Jake say, his voice a little softer. “We'll find you another ball and hopefully you'll get it right next time. It would help if you'd loosen up and bend your knees a little.”
“I did bend my knees,” she muttered, horrified.
"No, baby, there was no bending of any knees anywhere on this lane. There wasn't even a bend of an arm. Or a waist.
That was a Frankenstein bowl if I've ever seen one."
Great. Robin turned around to get her ball and noticed that none of the women made eye contact. Eeew. That bad?
Her second bowl wasn't much better—but she managed to keep it in her gutter. Robin quickly made her way back to her seat on the bench and fell into it, wondered if Sue was talking about her when she leaned over to whisper something to Reba. What a nightmare! If it made any difference to the Tweedledees, she had no more desire to be in this bowling alley than they desired her to be here. All she wanted to do was discuss a little bubble wrap and get the hell out of Dodge, but noooo, she was going to have to bowl first. She glared at Jake, wondered how he did it so easily, begrudgingly admiring how he seemed to adapt to everything around him.
When she stepped up to the lane for her next turn, barriers suddenly popped up on either side of the lane, startling her. The howl of Sue's laughter behind her was almost her undoing. She turned slowly, looked at them looking at her, obviously enjoying themselves at her expense. All except Jake, who came striding forward. “What the hell?” she softly demanded.
“Bumper guards. To keep your ball in the right lane.”
“I've never seen anything like that!”
“Well… they're usually for little kids,” he said, wincing a little.
Robin's eyes narrowed; so this was how it was going to be. “Oh yeah? And whose bright idea was it? Sylvia's? Sue's?”
Jake bit his lip. “Reba's.”
Something snapped like a twig in Robin's brain. She stepped around Jake, waved at Reba. “T hank s for the help!” she called cheerfully and growled beneath her breath when Reba nudged Sue in the side. Laugh at her, would they? She turned a murderous gaze to the lane in front of her. She'd show them—she was going to learn how to bowl, by God, right here, right now, or die trying.
Her first attempt wrenched her back, but the ball stayed in the lane and hit two pins.
“Hey! Well, okay!” Jake called, clapping, his voice betraying his surprise. “That's what I'm talking about! This time, bend your knees!” he encouraged her.
Robin bent her knees. She bent her knees so deep she damn near kissed the polished wood lane. The ball still bounced, but it wobbled down the lane, knocking over five or six more of the milk bottles. She stood up, slapped her hands together, and turned around, her chin high as she marched back to her seat.
By the eighth frame, free of her jacket and jewelry, Robin was arguing with Reba about how many pins she had knocked over (until Reba pointed out the system automatically counted them), pumping her fist with each bowl, and having (okay, very hard to admit) a good time. She had lightened up. She had learned to bowl. And on the home stretch of the second game, she was spanking Sylvia.
Jake was having a good time, too. He had fetched a bucket of beer for everyone, was going for a game of 200, which he seemed to think was pretty outstanding. He also seemed to enjoy the opportunity to flirt, yet another sport at which he appeared to be naturally gifted. And he was great fun to be with. In spite of their rocky beginning, Jake was joking about the way she bowled, high-fiving her when she managed to knock the pins down, and encouraging her when she didn't.
But her personal victory in conquering bowling did not make Robin any less irritated that Eldagirt Wirt had not even bothered to make an appearance. She was beginning to wonder if she had been taken for a ride when Sue's cell phone rang. She handed it to Robin. “For you.”
“For me?” she asked, surprised, and took the phone. “Hello?”
“How'd you bowl?” Girt asked in her gravelly voice.
“I managed to eke out a couple of games,” Robin said irritably. “Did I misunderstand our meeting?”
“Nah.” Girt paused to drag on a cigarette. “Sorry about that, but my son's sick. Bob's on his way to pick you up and bring you on out to the warehouse.”
“Umm… okay. May I ask if you are going to be there?”
“ 'Course I'm gonna be there!” Girt declared in such a huff that it sparked a serious coughing spell. “He'll be there in about ten minutes,” she said hoarsely. “Now could you hand the phone back to Sue?”
Robin handed the phone to Sue. Sue put the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said, but whatever Eldagirt said in return caused Sue to look at Robin, then quickly turn away so she could not hear her.
Fine. She just hoped that when Sue gave her report, she would note the strike Robin had in the seventh frame of the second game, t hank you very much.
“We're going to the warehouse,” she informed Jake as he came back from returning his shoes. She jabbed one arm into her jacket. “I think Wirt is giving me the runaround.”
“Why, what did she say?”
“She said her son was sick,” Robin responded with a roll of her eyes.
“Seems plausible.”
“Seems lame! I don't know about your business, Jake,” Robin said as she slipped off her bowling shoes, “but in mine, you learn not to trust too much. Someone is always trying to get one over on you.”
“Is that your business? Or just you?” he asked glibly and proceeded past without waiting for her answer to say goodbye to the ladies.
Robin followed suit, primly extending her hand to Reba. Reba's green eyes were sparkling with mirth as she accepted it. “Hope we get a chance at a rematch.”
That seemed unlikely, but Robin smiled all the same. “Me, too—next time, I am taking you down.”
Reba laughed heartily, the flesh on her bosom jiggling with the exertion of it. “Hell, I think you mean it!”
Sue and Sylvia likewise t hank ed Robin for bowling with them, and eyeballed Jake's butt one more time as he said his good-byes to Reba. “You're lucky there, girlfriend. Don't keep him up too late,” Sylvia said.
“I'm not promising,” Robin said with a smile, much to the delight of Sylvia and Sue.
She and Jake waved good-bye and walked out into the
sunshine to wait for Bob, where heat was radiating off the parking lot at a cool five thousand degrees. Jake was pretty pleased with his 200 game, and even reviewed some of the frames for her while they waited.
“Yeah, yeah,” Robin said, laughing. “You're a stud.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “So come on, that wasn't so bad, was it?”
Robin shrugged halfheartedly. “It was okay.”
“You looked like you were having a pretty good time. Stay down off your little throne just a little while longer and admit it.”
She folded her arms and peered up to the main road in search of Bob's pickup truck. “Okay. It was fun. I just didn't come to Burdette to go bowling with three women I've never met and will never see again.”
“Life's an adventure if you'll let it be, Robin.”
“Oh man, you sound like a John Denver song.”
“Baby, I am a John Denver song,” he laughed as Bob came barreling around the corner, the sound of his engine drowning out any further conversation. He came to a hard stop, leaned over, and pushed open the passenger door. Robin guessed that meant to get in.
Bob pointed his truck toward the opposite end of town from the smelting plant, and they were off again. With the radio tuned to a country western station, they hurtled down the main drag, picked up speed on the outskirts of town, flew past trees draped in Spanish moss, and finally slowed to turn down a poorly paved road that obviously saw a lot of truck traffic, coasting up to three white warehouses at the end of the road.
Bob stopped the truck, got out and went inside.
Jake climbed out of the bed of the truck at the same time Robin stepped out. She brushed off her pants, then glanced up, and immediately burst into laughter at the sight of Jake's hair.
“Watch it,” he said good-naturedly as he tried to comb it with his fingers.
“Y'all getting on okay?”
Robin would recognize that voice anywhere and whipped
around. But it surprised her to see that the body did not match the voice. Eldagirt Wirt was not a ball-busting former Nazi bodyguard as Robin had imagined, but a very thin and wiry woman with lots of curly black hair (just like hers), who looked to be about the same age as Robin—definitely not an old hag. She was wearing a red-and-white striped, sleeveless T-shirt, and her arms were buff. The T-shirt was tucked into a pair of black Wranglers that looked as if they had been painted on, and at the end of two skinny legs were a pair of classic Doc Martens—just like the pair Robin owned.
“Call me Girt,” she said, and stepped forward, smiling, revealing stained teeth.
“I'm Robin Lear.”
“Oh yeah, I knew who you was right away,” she said matter-of-factly. “What I want to know is, who is he?”
“My friend, Jake Manning.”
“Well, now I'm really sorry I didn't make it to the bowling alley,” Girt said with a grin. “Hope you don't mind a little bowling, Mr. Manning.”
“Are you kidding? I bowled a two hundred.”