Page 36 of Putting Out
“Well, stop it. We’re not doing things like that anymore, remember? Your girlfriend wouldn’t like it.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Then your soon-to-be ex-wife. Whoever the mystery woman is.”
“She is a mystery,” Luke allowed. “There are times I don’t know what she’s going to do from one moment to the next.”
Rolling her eyes, Reilly dismissed the wave of jealousy and tried to remember the agonizing nervousness from earlier. It was easier to deal with.
“Can we get this over with?”
“Sure.” Luke took her hand and she let him because hers was cold and his was warm. He walked her across the stage and she could hear the drone from beyond the heavy red velvet curtain grow louder.
“It sounds like more than a bunch of reporters.”
“Maybe a few more, but don’t let them make you nervous. A few kids from the school came out in support.”
Reilly turned to him. “What the heck…” Luke found where the curtain parted and pulled back the material to create an opening. “Go on now, you’re on.”
For a second she hesitated, but then she felt a hard push at her back and she was stumbling forward through the opening.
The roar didn’t register for at least a second. Her head was filled with a buzzing noise louder than the bees in front of her. Every seat, every open space in the large auditorium was filled to capacity with people standing on their feet and cheering. She couldn’t hear them.
Finally the noise in her head quieted to be filled with the sound of applause and chants and whistles. Numb, she looked around and saw various different groups of students clustered together. There was the girls’ soccer team in the Little Creek High colors of red and white carrying a sign that read: Go For It!
The girls’ basketball team, also in uniform, was behind them. Other students, former teachers, friends from town had all come to cheer her on. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. There were a few men in the back standing around a sign that indicated she had no place at The American, but for the most part she had to believe the crowd was in her favor.
Glancing down at the front row she saw the reporters she’d thought would be her audience. They were recording the noise of the auditorium. There was a camera crew off to the right filming all of it. This wasn’t what she wanted. This Band-Aid was going to hurt like hell when she tore it off.
On unsteady legs she made her way to the table on stage, which had been set up for her, and sat down. She tapped the microphone and heard the sound resonate.
“Hello,” she muttered.
Another cheer went up from the crowd. After a few seconds she was able to quiet them with a wave of her hand.
Reilly considered the statement she had written and rehearsed. Her mind, however, was now blank. She couldn’t even recall the first sentence. Cursing herself for not bringing a copy, she figured the crowd was too juiced for a boring statement, anyway. The first question would come and she would let them all know her answer and then the cheers would be replaced with boos. She wondered if people had brought food inside as a sudden image of a flying egg made her cringe.
“Okay. Uh…” Again, she glanced to the first row. The guys she knew all had their hands up, but one guy she wasn’t familiar with was bouncing out of his seat. “You, on the end.”
The man stood. He was older with a round belly that would have made people think he was nine months pregnant if he wasn’t a man. His thinning hair was combed over to one side of his head and he wore an ID tag around his neck labeling him as press. In a booming voice, he shouted, “Ms. Carr, do you honestly think you deserve to play in the American?”
Instantly, the students around him started to boo. Boos she feared soon would be directed at her. Wow, they were loud.
“It’s okay, everyone. Settle down. I’m sorry, what paper are you from?”
“I’m from theConservative Weekly. And my question is do you feel you deserve to play in a tournament such as the American?”
It wasn’t the question she’d been expecting, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with the man’s obvious condescension. “I take it you don’t. Think I deserve to be there, that is.”
“Frankly, no.” More boos, but he shouted over them. “But I want to know if you think so. Are you so deluded you’ve bought into this travesty of a ranking system and believe you are better than nearly three quarters of the men playing on the PGA tour?”
The catcalls and insults continued to flow. Reilly could see Stan fromGolf Digestrolling his eyes. It was clear he had no time for the debate, but rather wanted his question answered. The athletes were pumping their fists and the crowd at large seemed to be taking sides.
Reilly’s gaze drifted to her left and she spotted a girl sitting on the floor in front of the first- row seats.
The girl’s blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and her bangs brushed her eyes, making Reilly think she could have been that girl twenty years ago. She was thin and wore pink sneakers but she didn’t carry any kind of sign in her hand. Instead, she held her hands together clasped in a prayer position. Her eyes were closed tight as if it took all of her effort to keep them shut. Her lips kept repeating the same word over and over again. Please.
Reilly chuckled even as her eyes filled with tears. It all made sense. This had never been her choice to make.
