Dumping Billy (23 page)

Just then, to Kate’s enormous relief, Bina returned to the lane. She looked as if the entire research staff of Max Factor had worked her face over. A great look for bowling. But when she smiled, her natural warmth showed. “Well, hey,” she said to Billy as she sat beside him.

Billy looked from Kate to Bina. And then he looked back across at Kate, leaning against Michael’s proprietary arm. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” Bina told him. Kate tried to avert her eyes, but not soon enough. From the look on Billy’s face, she knew that he now understood what was going on and was clearly unhappy with the territory as it was currently staked. She decided to hope for the best.

“Okay,” Kate said, sliding into the double seat behind the scorekeeping board. She quickly entered their information into the keypad, and their names lit up on the overhead screens—hers with Michael’s and Bina’s with Billy’s. “Now we can get started.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, looking at the screen, “but what are we starting?”

Kate thought she heard some anger or maybe bitterness in his voice but felt it was best to just ignore it.

“We can’t start,” Bina whined. “I haven’t found a ball.” She looked at Billy and did everything except bat her eyes. “Would you help me?” she asked. Then she licked her lips. Kate wondered if she had confused Elliot’s ridiculous instructions and was trying to annoy instead of arouse.

Billy shot Kate a look, and it said everything. Then he grabbed Bina’s hand and, without taking his eyes off Kate, stood up. “Sure,” he said. “I’m no expert with balls, except my own, but I’ll try. Though it often seems to me that other people have a lot of balls.”

Kate blushed. She knew this type of behavior; she had seen it with her child patients. He was going to act out and make sure she paid for her little deception by being as horrible as possible. Billy and Bina left the pit, and Michael waited until they were out of earshot.

“Charming,” he said. “Will he discuss other parts of his anatomy as the night progresses?” He sat beside Kate in the scoring seat. “How long have you known him?” he asked, echoing Billy, consciously or not.

Kate was surprised to feel a slight surge of pleasure at his possessiveness. “Oh, he picked up Bina at that wedding I went to,” she replied.

“A friendly guy. And well equipped,” was all Michael deigned to say.

Then Bina and Billy returned from the rack. Bina was carrying a hideous-looking bowling ball, blue with patches of fuchsia. “We finally found a ball that matches my scarf!” Bina said with excessive enthusiasm. “Billy helped me.” Kate restrained herself from shaking her head. Bina was acting as if the selection of a piece of sporting equipment were akin to slaying a dragon. She held up the hideous ball, then nearly dropped it. Kate remembered, all at once, just how klutzy Bina was. “Klutzy, smutzy,” Mrs. Horowitz used to say. “As long as you get good grades.” Bina then attempted to stick her plump fingers into the tiny holes.

Billy, meanwhile, unzipped his bag and took out a much larger black ball. “And look,” he exclaimed, laying on the sarcasm, “I found a ball that matches my outfit, too!”

Kate, concerned about hurting Bina’s feelings, decided to comment. “Well,
you’re
wearing all black and you coordinated by bringing your own ball.”

Billy served Kate an insincere smile. “That did make it less of a challenge.” He looked over at Michael. “Hey, Mike, how big is your ball?”

“Ten pounds,” Michael answered. “And I prefer to be called Michael,” he added flatly.

Kate saw him narrow his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t enjoying himself. But it seemed as if he also sensed or observed that something was going on between her and Billy.

Bina reached over for her cola. “I haven’t been bowling since Annie Jackson’s sixth-grade birthday party. Remember, Katie?”

“How could I forget?” Kate said, smiling at the memory. “I threw up Pop Rocks all over myself.”

“Oh, yeah!” Bina squealed. “Gross.” She looked over at Billy, licking her lips again.

Billy joined the two of them at the scoreboard. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, and put his foot down right beside Kate’s and on her shoelace. Kate moved her foot away, pulling out the bow. “I think some women look cute in their own vomit.” Kate, totally nonplussed, pulled her foot up to the seat and quickly retied her shoe.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of opportunity to see it,” she said, and turned to Michael. “Billy works in a bar.”

“Lots of chances with drunken women,” Billy said. “Right, Mike?”

“Michael,” Michael corrected. “Not in my experience.”

“Well, owning my own bar, I’m sure I have more experience,” Billy said coolly.

Kate was surprised to hear that Billy owned the Barber Bar, if that was, in fact, the truth.

Billy stared her down for a moment and then wrapped his arm around Bina. “I’m sure I have a lot more experience in quite a few things,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-four

O
uch!” Bina yelled. “Ow. Ow.” She shook her hand as if it were a limp fish at the end of a pole, then put her index finger into her mouth. Kate hadn’t been looking, but as Bina had tried to retrieve her ball from the ball return, her finger had been crunched by another ball spewed from the maw of the machine.

Billy bent over her hand, taking it in his. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Kate turned away from the two of them and looked at Michael, who was sitting beside her. When she had put together this ridiculous scheme, she had thought of Billy and how he might be angry and difficult. She had thought of Bina and how she might be disappointed. But she hadn’t thought of Michael and the effect that a night of Brooklyn bowling might have on him. She put her arm around him. He was a lot quieter than usual and obviously disturbed by his poor performance. While he was not a jock, Michael was fit and played squash regularly, where, she knew, he was a tough competitor. He didn’t like to lose.

Kate looked down at the board, then put her head on Michael’s shoulder. “The score doesn’t matter,” she cooed, realizing at once that her tone was the one she used when she was talking to her young patients. “Are you having fun?”

Michael ignored the question, as he so obviously was not. “I can’t believe I’m coming in third,” he said, and shook his head. Kate wondered if she should try to do poorly, just so Michael would have a shot at second place, but she knew that her score and Bina’s didn’t matter. Michael was pissed because Billy was beating him, and doing it by so wide a margin.

Just then Billy approached them. He picked up his drink from the holder, then shook his head as he took a look at the scoreboard. “Well, we’re all having a pretty dismal night,” he commented, but Kate thought she saw him smirk as he went up to help Bina prepare for what would almost certainly be yet another gutter ball.

Kate ignored them and turned back to Michael. She felt responsible for this and didn’t like to see him upset. If she was completely truthful with herself, she’d have to admit she also didn’t like to see him bested by Billy. It was foolish, she told herself, to feel that way or to allow Michael to have that view. It was some vestige of the
Homo sapiens
fight for alpha male position. “People often confuse athletic scores with personal identity,” she said.

“Sure. When the Cubs lose my world falls apart,” Michael said, almost sneering.

Michael was from Chicago, and the fact was that he did root for the pathetic Cubs. But this wasn’t the Cubs pitted against another, superior baseball team. This was Michael pitted against Billy Nolan. And Michael, in a word from her youth, was getting
shmeisted.

“This isn’t that hard. I can’t believe I haven’t rolled a strike.”

“Oh, it’s just for fun,” she tried to remind him. “Bowling was never your game. Anyway,” she said, waving toward Bina, who was still at the line, dithering, “no one does worse than Bina.”

Billy, sipping his soft drink, overheard her, grinned, and laughed. “Eye on the head pin, Bina,” he encouraged. Then he put back his cup. “Hey, wait!” he called. He left the pit and stepped behind her, put his arms around her, and changed her stance.

Kate, watching them, felt a twinge of what she wouldn’t admit was jealousy. Then Bina, guided by Billy, released the ball down the lane—this time with her eyes closed. The group watched as the ball rolled directly down the middle of the lane and almost miraculously knocked over all the pins. Kate’s mouth dropped, but not as much as Michael’s pride.

“Omigod! Omigod! I hit them! I hit them all!” Bina shouted. She did a victory dance that involved reaching both arms up to the ceiling and incidentally exposing a significant part of the fuchsia underpants beneath her tiny skirt. Kate watched as bowlers from other lanes smiled, pointed, and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

“Touchdown!” Bina yelled. She gave Billy a big hug, then ran over to Kate. “Katie, I can’t believe it,” she said, her arms under Kate’s while she jumped back and forth. “I knocked them over!” Then, flinging her arms wide, she accidentally knocked the beer out of Kate’s hand and all over the front of Michael’s shirt.

“Bina, you seem to be on a roll at knocking things over,” Kate said as Michael jumped up.

“I’m so sorry,” Bina said to Michael, flushing bright red. She grabbed for the already damp Bowl-a-Rama cocktail napkin that was lying on the scoreboard top. Michael was holding his shirt away from his body, his elbows extended like a man impersonating a rooster. Kate could see the beer had soaked not only his shirt, but also his pants. When Bina began to dab ineffectually at his chest and crotch, Michael took a step backward.

“No. Let me help,” she begged. “I can get it right out. Club soda on the shirt. Club soda and salt on your pants.”

Kate almost smiled, despite Michael’s discomfort. The Horowitz family were experts at removing every stain from every possible material: wine on linen, ballpoint on silk, tar on leather. The list was endless and often discussed. Kate took Michael’s arm. He looked at her helplessly.

“Hurry up,” Bina insisted, taking his other arm. “We have to do it before the stain sets. Trust me, I know.”

“She does,” Kate said, nodding at him.

“Maybe it’s all right,” Michael volunteered, but then he looked down at himself.

“Go with her,” Kate said.

“Yeah. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bina told him as she led him away from the lane.

Kate watched him go and felt deeply sorry for having invited him. He disappeared into the crowd like a damaged ship being pulled by a determined little tugboat. Kate sighed.

“Not Mike’s day.”

Kate turned around to face Billy, who was leaning on the side of their banquette, his legs crossed and his eyebrows raised. “Not much of a player.”

“Just because he’s in third place . . . ,” Kate began.

“Last,” Billy corrected her.

“Excuse me?” Kate asked. Billy pointed at the electronic scoreboard. He took a step closer to her. She felt his arm against her shoulder. She also felt heat rise up from her chest to her neck and hoped he wouldn’t notice the blush on her face.

“Last,” he said again, and leaned forward to tap the score. “Since Bina’s strike, he’s in last place.” Kate felt a little light-headed. Billy Nolan was so close to her, she could smell his soap and the heat of his body. For an insane moment she had an impulse to close her eyes and fall into his arms. Instead she took a step away and picked up a bowling ball.

“You’re just jealous,” she said without thinking, not quite sure what she meant.

He turned to face her instead of the score. “You’re right, I am,” he said in a steady voice.

“You are?” Kate asked, but she couldn’t match his steadiness. She was surprised at this admission.

“Yeah,” Billy said. And then he continued, a lot less casually. He lowered his voice, but it rose in intensity. “I thought I was going on this date with you. And you knew that. I can’t believe I fell for the old bait and switch, or that you played me that way.”

Kate dropped the ball back into the ball return. Despite the truth of what he said, she felt indignant. She’d done it for the best of reasons, and who was he to claim a higher moral ground? “You’re on a date with my best friend,” she said defensively.

“Really?” Billy asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Is that what you thought?”

“Yes,” Kate lied. “And then you insult my boyfriend and come on to me. What is wrong with you?”

“Well, for one thing, I like to pick my own women,” Billy said. And he looked her over from head to toe. He paused, took a couple of steps away from her, and sat on the banquette, crossing an ankle over his knee. “For another, I certainly wouldn’t pick Bina,” he said bluntly.

Kate felt a surge of anger on behalf of her friend. She had feared something like this would happen, and now her main concern was that Billy would humiliate Bina. She silently cursed Elliot, Barbie, and the whole bunch of them. Playing with people’s lives was always dangerous, and right now she was the one about to face retribution for their stupidity. “That is just plain rude,” she told him.

“Rude to be angry when I’m tricked? I’m just calling it as I see it,” Billy said.

“I guess that’s why everyone calls you like they see you,” Kate snapped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy said, sitting upright and putting both feet on the ground.

Kate controlled herself, but with difficulty. She didn’t want to see Bina hurt, and she had to try to get out of this somehow. She turned away from him. “It means every woman in Brooklyn, perhaps with the exception of Brooklyn Heights, knows your reputation,” she said, and went to pick up her purse.

“What reputation?” Billy asked. He stood up and followed her. When she didn’t answer him or turn around, he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to him. “What reputation?” he asked again.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you know everyone calls you ‘Dumping Billy’?” Kate answered, exasperated.

“‘Dumping Billy’? Why?”

Kate looked up at him. He was tall, at least seven or eight inches taller than she was, but she could see his eyes cloud. He seemed to have been completely unaware of his nickname.