Page 24 of Penalty Shot

“I don’t understand why high schools teach the tragedies when the comedies are so much more relevant for that age,” I say. “For instance,A Midsummer Night’s Dreamis basically about sex, drugs, and foursomes.”

“You had me at sex.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a crooked grin. “I bet you’re a great teacher.”

I know he means it to be a compliment, but all I can think about is how the one time I invited him to the college, we had sex behind a curtain. That was the most unprofessional thing I have ever done! And this is coming from someone who had to track an actor’s bowel movement schedule for a season. I shudder, unwilling to relive the details of that production.

My point is, Randall is a wonderful distraction I can no longer afford.

“Enough about me. What drew you to hockey?”

“What’s there not to love?” he says flippantly.

He parks in a rather seedy looking lot. Unfortunately for his fancy sports car, Jack & Jill does not have a valet service. We walk from where we parked to the diner in companionable silence. It’s a typical fifties-style eatery: retro décor, neon signs, vintage memorabilia. The waitress behind the counter looks up when the door jingles and points to some stools in front of her.

“Can we get a booth?” Randall asks me, his eyes shifting. He’s probably self-conscious about being recognized and disturbed. I recall the girls in the bathroom who interrogated me, a perfect stranger, about Randall’s dating life.

“How about the one at the end?” I offer. We slip into the vinyl booth and grab the laminated menus perched by a napkin holder.

Suddenly, my hankering for bacon and eggs overtakes all else, including greasy cheeseburgers.

“Can I get you something to drink while you decide?” the waitress asks.

“I’ll have black tea with milk, please,” I say automatically, which is what I always have with breakfast food.

“Really? Not even a milkshake?” Randall asks.

“Will you let me have a sip of yours?” I ask.

“Your largest chocolate milkshake, please,” he addresses the waitress. “And…” He looks at me. “Still up for cheeseburgers, or do you want to check the menu?”

“I’m having the breakfast special. Scrambled eggs and bacon with a stack of pancakes, please.”

Randall nods in approval. “I’ll have that and a cheeseburger,” he says putting both our menus away.

When we’re alone, I lean over the table. “By the way, you never answered my question about what drew you to hockey.”

“Andyoudidn’t tell me about your play.”

I hadn’t meant to be evasive, but since that’s the reason I can’t see him anymore, why dwell on it? If he’s genuinely curious, I’m happy to practice the elevator speech.

“It follows the structure and themes of Shakespeare’sMacbeth, set in eighties corporate America,” I state. “The lead is a second-generation Asian American woman who topples her mentor in order to take over a telecommunications company. But the competition only pushes her further into darkness, till everything she creates for the company is some version of the people she eliminated along the way.”

He blinks slowly, seeming to process my description. “What’s that eighties corporate America film with Michael Douglas?” Randall taps the Formica table. “Wolf of Wall Street!”

“Exactly!”

“Will there be sex, drugs, and foursomes?” he asks.

I make a show of scrambling in my purse and hold my finger up. “Give me a sec. I’ll write that down.” When I stop my stupid ruse, we’re both grinning.

“Your turn. Why hockey?”

“I couldn’t do law.”

That takes me a minute to consider. “Family of lawyers.”

“Yup.”

“You know, there are more than two options.”