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Show Woodworth/46 pins, flashes of sneakers, legs lifted, tucked to the side, ams straight, wrists stiff. They rent shoes, take a score sheet, choose a ball. "Rachael, I can't bowl. I can barely stand." "Look, just stick your fingers in those holes. No, not those fingers. Here. Like this." "The balls we used at the Country Club didn't have holes in them." "Knowing the country club set, they probably had them removed as obscene. These are real women." "I knew these hands were going to get someone in trouble tonight," "'arty says. "Careful. We're in a public place. Now. All you have to do is throw it down the lane. Like this." Rachael rolls her ball down the alley. It curves hard right, picks two pins off the side. "Kind of like that. Only you have to knock 'em all over. Pretend they're little Neds and Ruths." Marty throws the ball, thinking, in spite of herself, "little-neds-and-ruths." The ball heads immediately for the gutter. "Keep your wrist straight. Here, try again." "This time, Marty throws the ball slowly, deliberately. "This one's for you, Mom," she says under her breath. The ball hits slowly, neatly, dead center. Knocks down three pins. "That's it. But you've got to add a little power." Rachael pounds the ball down the alley. "This one's for Harvard men. Or boys." She clears half the pins. Laughing, they knock dovyr U1T3 ludUhWBt boyfriends, enemies and institutions. |