I like getting our two leads together more, but it is hard to do. The phone will have to suffice. I also feel like this is getting us into Sam's head more, which is useful. I like the construction style, where our lead spends a few paragraphs living inside their head and narrating their thoughts, before we get to move the plot forward. It feels a natural way of writing, but ideally, I'd spend more time making sure that the conversation ties into what they're thinking about. The important part about this is that it tells us where Sam is going to be tonight, story time. It also helps to build up on Sam's misunderstanding about Rusty, and serves to remind the reader about Lucy's little white lie. Either way, I think I'm looking at a time skip soon to the evening, because I'm running out of things I needed to set up to knock down.
Anyway, fiction below the fold. Check the links for parts you've missed. I'm hesitant to call them "chapters," so let's stick with parts.
1. Start of Lucy's first chapter
2. Conclusion of the first Lucy chapter
3. Start of Sam's chapter
4. Sam's story continues with an unfortunate evening
5. Our two main characters interact as Sam gets shot down.
6. We're back with Lucy as she reflects on her new boyfriend
7. Lucy has a little crush; isn't it adorable?
8. Lucy never gets any peace.
9. Sam gets a phone call.
10. Sam meets "Rusty."
11. Sam ponders important questions.
12. Lucy is a wreck.
13. He has a night job.
14. The title makes you think it'll be a different joke than it is.
15. Lucy's mind wanders.
16. I make up a new term.
* * *
Heather is married. And 72. I still showed her where we keep everything, but it was a bit more of a chore than when I thought Heather was a bright-eyed co-ed fresh out of school. Apparently, she wanted to keep busy in her retirement, and her idea of keeping busy is being a waitress. My idea of keeping busy in retirement is going to be fantasy baseball and football. Really, carrying food to other people is not how I want to spend my twilight years. Or my current years.
I didn’t even get a thank you text back from Fiona. I did get a text from Kenny reminding me to show up at the lanes at six. We were going to teach a bowling class for kids. Believe me, it is as painful as it sounds. Kenny is able to go into anything with a positive attitude though: “Dude, soccer moms and single moms — when opportunity knocks, you open the door.”
I don’t think he realized that said moms would probably just be dumping the kids off for an hour. Also, just on the odds, I’d wager if someone is a mom, she probably has a guy who was the kid’s dad. There is a pretty good chance of that. I had even mentioned that to him. But Kenny waved that off. “Divorce rate is up, and some of these women are career women and make more than us combined. We’re looking at a sugar mama who likes bowling.”
I was skeptical of his plan. I was still skeptical when my phone rang. I told Heather I was going to take five (by which I meant 15), and stepped outside to take the call.
“How did you get my number?”
“Lucy, how do you do?”
“Sam, how’d you get my number?”
“Fiona asked for it, so I grabbed it from the schedule so she’d stop whining.”
“I don’t want you to have my number.”
“You realize that by calling me, I have your number now, right?”
“Well, delete it.”
“Fine. But, don’t worry. I won’t let Rusty know we’re talking clandestinely,” I said. It was a pleasant day out. You wouldn’t know it, but sometimes it can get cold in California. “Not that anyone here ever speaks with Rusty.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve never spoken, and will never, speak with Rusty. Unless you introduce us, which you could do. But you probably won’t, because why would you? You should bring him by the O.G.”
“I don’t want to talk about Rusty,” She said. “I’m sorry Sam; I didn’t mean to flip out on you.”
“Compared to Fiona, you’re a peach,” which is sort of true. Lucy’s from somewhere in the South, so you know, Georgia, peaches. Women like being metaphorized as fruits, right? Apple of my eye, pear shaped figures? Or is that hour glasses? Now that I think about, I’m pretty sure its hour glasses, which explains why SouthernBelle1986 never responded to my message on Match.com.
“I’m just having a rough day so far. I shouldn’t take it out on you,” Lucy said.
“So I hear.”
A second later, what I said registered. Her question was accusatory: “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“I don’t know! I’m tired Sam; goodbye.” I thought about telling her to get some sleep, but then I thought better about it. Even though the talk didn’t take 15 minutes, I stayed out the whole time. It was probably good to let Heather get her feet wet; sink-or-swim, you know?