Despite his breezy tone, the meaning was clear.
They’d given me an education. But they hadn’t necessarily given me a life.
I’d always known that. But hearing it reflected to me in Hudson’s understated way nearly knocked me on my ass.
Remembering Leelah’s experiment suggestion, I filed away this emotional information for later examination. It was more data. That’s all.
“Come on, then,” I said, smiling. “Show me how it’s done.”
He led me over to the check-in booth, which, in keeping with the retro theme, was styled like an old drive-in movie ticket stand. The lady behind the counter, with her long silver braids and collection of mood rings on every finger and her name tag withMinniewritten on it, looked exactly like you’d expect an eccentric mini-golf-owning lady to look…but she wasn’t smiling.
As he booked our game, though, I watched his small talk slowly open Minnie up. By the time she disappeared behind a door to retrieve our clubs and balls, she wasn’t just smiling. She was beaming.
Hudson, I realized, was a friendship whisperer. I’d never seen him meet a stranger, never seen him treat anyone with anything less than extreme kindness. It was uncanny, his way of making people feel at home with him.
“You’re staring,” Hudson said, as we waited for our clubs.
“You’re hot,” I replied.
“Why thank you. But that’s not why you’re staring.”
No, it wasn’t. I was staring because I’d never met anyone like him, and I didn’t think I ever would meet anyone like him again.
And the knowledge of him leaving at the end of this contract suddenly felt not like a fail-safe, but like a threat.
Picking another line of inquiry, I followed my curiosity about him to safer discourse. How did a person become a Hudson Bailey?
I had no idea. But for the first time, I wanted more than sex from him. I wanted…him. This didn’t feel like before, when I wanted to pick him apart and dissect him to better understand him as a subject of scientific fascination. This felt personal. Intimate.
“I just don’t really know you. Like, anything about you.”
“You know plenty.”
“Not really. You are so good at making me feel like it’s okay to talk aboutmyself, but you never talk aboutyourself.”
His gaze shifted.
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything.”
He shrugged. “Sounds very personal, Scout. I thought you weren’t into the personal stuff.”
“I told you. I’m experimenting.”
It wasn’t an argument or anything, but his resistance to telling me more was clear.
He brightened, though, when Minnie returned to the booth with our pink and green golf clubs and their corresponding, color-coordinated balls.
“I got good news and bad news for you kids,” she said. “Good news is, these are brand-new clubs. Bad news is, they’ve got a slight bend in ’em, so I’m going to have to send them back. I tossed the old ones, so these are the only ones we got. Sorry ’bout that.”
We both dismissed the apology. After all, it was only a game. I took green. Hudson took pink.
It was instinctive, as if we both knew that the other was going to pick the non-obvious choice.
After collecting the tools of our temporary trade, we wandered to the practice hole so I could get my bearings. This was a simple one with less theming than its official counterparts. At one end was a clown head with sharp teeth, veryKiller Klowns from Outer Space. Hudson went first, showing off so I could observe his technique.
“What’s with the sudden change of heart?” he asked, lining up his first shot. “You seemed pretty keen on keeping me at arm’s length.”
