Page 16 of Penalty Shot
“Good. We celebrate tonight.”
Oh shit, I can’t. “I’ve made plans with Lily tonight, but we should do brunch this weekend. My treat.”
“Say hi to Lily for me. See you tomorrow,” she says. I’m about to say the same, since we both know I’ll be out late and might not be heading home at all, but she clears her throat to stall my goodbye.
“I’m so proud of you, Elise. This is everything you wanted, and you deserve to have your play performed.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
Lily and I are going to the Mavericks arena, having taken up Randall’s offer for a free hockey game.
Randall. Some part of me feels the tinge of regret. Sure, we understand that neither of us has the time or interest for anything serious. That was the arrangement up front because we think the same way. Some might call it crass or blunt, but I see itas a matter of respect when he takes me at my word that this isn’t serious, and it won’t be.
The fling was fun while it lasted. For an emotionally unavailable playboy, Randall is easy to be with. If popular hockey players like him are anything close to actors recognized in the streets, Randall could easily be an arrogant ass. He could be full of himself, and he’s not. Instead, he takes it all in stride. Never obsessing about the game, or the fitness routine, or the expectations, or the fame.
Unlike me, who overthinks every aspect of my professional obligations, Randall approaches his job the same way he approaches our time together: effortlessly well. He never makes a big deal about anything. The only thing big about him is…
God, I’ll miss hooking up. The chemistry is off the charts. It’s been a while since I found someone who kept me interested for the full ten dates. We’ve had, I think seven? Tonight will be the eighth. And it will also be the last.
Once the design concept and auditions begin forBlood Will Have Blood, I’ll barely have time to eat and sleep. There will be no hooking up with Randall or with anyone else.
Even tonight is a final indulgence. I’ll need every minute till that first meeting next week to prepare my vision for the play. I should also jump on some calls. There are people I’m considering for certain parts ofBlood Will Have Bloodwho I’ll invite to audition.
Summer stock companies like Imagination Ohio will probably hire their in-house stage managers and support for sets, props, lighting, and costumes. But this is a play I’ve been living and breathing for a while. I know the talent in the area and have a sense of who I’d like to see on that stage.
Speaking of whom, I text Lily:Want to grab happy hour before the game tonight? I’ve got news. I’ll pick you up at 5:30.
Lily:Can’t wait!
When I arrive at Chrome Cuts, Lily is fixing her hair, which she recently cut in a stylish pixie and dyed bubblegum pink. She rents a chair in a bustling salon, which gives her the freedom to set her own hours and manage her clientele independently.
She releases an appreciative whistle upon my approach. Since this is my last date with Randall, I wanted to look nice for once. With a nod to the burgeoning spring season, I’ve worn a red dress with cherry blossom flowers. The bodice is fitted at my waist and gently flares out into a flowing skirt. The deep V-neck does its best to feature my slight cleavage. The fabric gathers into an asymmetrical hemline, the front hem brushing just above the right knee. The back of the dress is the real showstopper, dipping daringly and framed by delicate crisscrossing straps. With ankle boots and layered pendant necklaces, there’s just enough edge to keep from looking too delicate.
“Girl, you are out to slay! Randall isn’t going to know what hit him,” Lily says.
“It isn’t too much?”
“Are you kidding me? The weather is finally perfect for your outfit. Should we hit Pint House by North Market?” She’s referring to a bar near Columbus’s public market. “I looked at the map and the parking lot is walkable to the arena.”
“Yeah, um, that’s great,” I say, the news at the tip of my tongue. My hesitation might as well be the newsflash. Lily’s eyes bug out.
“They chose your play!” she yells, not waiting for me to make the announcement. We hug and jump up and down like kids. “I knew it! I knew they’d love it. This is freaking huge!”
When we come down from the ecstatic high, we’re both a bit teary. “It’s happening,” she whispers reverently. “I’m so proud of you, Elise.”
“Thank you,” I manage while wiping my eyes. It’s really hitting me now, the sense that I’m on the cusp of something I’ve been waiting for my whole life. A real shot to see my work performed for an audience.
I’ve coveted this dream from the first moment I read a Beckett play and sobbed without knowing why I was sobbing.Waiting for Godotisn’t sentimental or even emotional. It was just sorealin this profoundly weird way. And to be clear, I am not above emotional outbursts during performances. The third time I watchedLes Misérables, I cried like it was the first time.
My point is, to be part of that world as a writer, even a little, is amazing.
“I can’t decide if I should laugh or scream or puke,” I admit.
“You’ll do a little bit of all three at some point,” Lily says pragmatically. “And I’ll be there for all of it. Right by your side.”
“I love you. Thank you. I wouldn’t have had the courage if you didn’t support me all these years.”
“Your talent is a fucking gift you unwrap for the world, bitch!” she exclaims, very familiar with my mother’s favorite motto. She adds her special Lily flair, of course.