“You were right.” She pushed the trophy toward him until he put out a hand. Then she dropped it. He fumbled, but caught it. “I won the duplicate bridge competition with my wife. And this excuse for an award is what they gave us! The guys playing golf—golf! A game which doesn’t even require you have a brain to play—they got a huge trophy to be engraved with their names and dates on it. Shelby Arms isn’t even a champion course, for god’s sake.”
She glared up at him.
“You take this ‘trophy’ and shove it where the sun don’t shine up the coordinator’s ass for us. We’re leaving.”
Without another word, she and another woman I didn’t remember from high school stalked out through the foyer, creating a Moses-sized gap as they plowed ahead.
Manny and I and the guys surrounding us started to laugh
