Chapter 5
Playing shuffleboard isa lot harder than it looks.
My play partners, a tour group of Chinese-American senior citizens from Texas, can be considered semi-pros.
They’re limber and flexible, able to judge angles, distances, the friction on the waxed court, and most importantly, the trajectory of knocking an opponent’s disc out of the scoring area.
“No, no, no,” my partner, a seventy-year-old man named Sylvester, yells from the other side of the court. “You need to keep your arm down and relax. Glide the disc by taking a step and letting your arm flow smoothly.”
Easier said than done.
Did I mention I’m wearing stiletto heels with at least five inches of spike?
I totter forward and jab the stick at the disc. It misses and the bracket snaps. The disc barely moves, and the man’s sister, who’s on the opposing team but standing next to me, snickers.
Her name’s Alice, and she’s a retired rocket scientist. The reason I’m playing with them is that she’s not wearing a wedding ring. When it’s her turn, she executes a perfect shot to the highest scoring triangle.
Sylvester yells out, “Dani, you have to knock her disc out. You can do it.”
The rocket scientist snickers. Has anyone told her how utterly annoying snickers are? It’s worse than fingernails on a chalkboard or Styrofoam squeaks while unboxing a flat-panel TV.
“I’m trying,” I say. This time, I use less force and the bracket actually contacts the disc—barely.
It sputters forward a few feet, not even crossing the line to the other side of the court.
Snicker.
“You might try lowering your angle of attack,” Alice says, adding a snicker for emphasis.
I’ll lower my angle of attack all right, by shoving her snickering butt across the board.
But no, I need to make nice with her and set her up with my enemy roommate. I tamp down my psychopathic thoughts and grit my teeth into a semblance of a smile. “You must have been good in physics.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re dressed entirely wrong for shuffleboarding.” Her tiny eyes behind thick glasses dart over my skimpy dress which barely clings over my breasts and butt. “If you think you’re going to hook up with my brother, you’ll have to go through me first.”
“Actually, I’m more interested in you.”
Alice raises her almost nonexistent eyebrows. “I’m definitely not your type.”
“Not mine either.” The only poke she’d get from me is a shish-kabobbing with the shuffleboard stick. “But I have a wonderful young man who’s in need of a date.”
“Right, and I’m not buying any essential oils, vitamins, or cleaning products from you.” She returns her attention to the shuffleboard discs, brushing them back and forth to test their coefficient of friction.
“No catch, no obligation,” I continue my sales pitch. “He’s a totally normal young man, a relative of my best friend. Completely honorable and respectful of parents. He’s good at physics too, things like trajectories, stickiness of materials, elasticity, and the mechanics of flight. I’m sure you’ll have a fab time with him.”
Alice ignores me and places her shot.
“Time out,” Sylvester calls from across the court. “I need to confer with my beautiful teammate.”
“And I need a lobotomy from watching you two,” Alice says, picking up the discs and polishing the bottoms with her shirtsleeve.
I turn away from Jordan’s upcoming date and smile at Sylvester as he saunters toward me.
Like an old pro, or a fatherly figure, he puts his arm around my shoulders and proceeds to give me the secrets to shuffleboarding prowess. “The key to shuffleboard is…”
I tune him out, not in the least bit interested in his strategy and correction of my shooting skills.
Meanwhile, I can feel the darts his possessive sister shoots in my back. It gives me an advantage, a hook to get her compliance to dating Jordan.
