Description: At the bowling alley, Eve dreams of California ranches and life in Hollywood as she shares her happiness with Shorty and Deirdre. It's a time to dream and believe in what's possible.
The Miss Teenager Pageant. PART 10.
Later that night at the bowling alley, Eve scuttled close to Shorty on the bench and shared her dream. The sounds of bowling balls rolling down alleys and crashing into pins filled Devon Lanes. On a Friday night, each lane was packed with players, mostly students Eve knew from high school kicking off their weekend with their favorite pastime.
Eve was still hovering on cloud nine with wings like a wide-spanned eagle. “Then maybe I’ll move the whole family to Hollywood,” she exclaimed with a thrill in her heart. “You know, in one of those sprawling ranch-type places with horses and stuff.”
“Dream on, Miss Jones,” chuckled Deirdre as she meandered over to lift a bowling ball from the rack.
“Why not?” Eve responded as if in a day dream.
Deirdre stepped up with her ball and sent it straight down the middle of the alley, but at the last second, it curved off to the left and plunked into the gutter.
Eve wondered for a moment if she was getting ahead of herself. But then she realized that what others thought of her dream didn’t matter a single bit. It was her dream, and she would keep it in her heart, knowing that dreams have a certain way of coming true.
Still sitting on the bench, Eve pulled her knees to her chest, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “There’s plenty of time for disappointment later,” she conceded. “Now’s the time to dream.” Yes, it was a long shot, but in the back of her mind, the thought always came back: how could she be disappointed? If there was a chance, it was possible. After all, wasn’t it her favorite actress Audrey Hepburn who had once said that even the word impossible was spelled She Is Possible, or something like that? And Eve knew it was true. She was possible. Her dream would go all the way!
Meanwhile, the two strangers who had just arrived in Devon were pulling into a parking space outside the Devon Hotel. It was a moderate but clean establishment, and from the outside looked more like a quaint apartment complex than the kind of luxury hotel they had imagined staying in.
They let the convertible sit for a moment as they took in the scene. With gaping mouths, they stared up at the building in front of them.
“The Ritz, it’s not,” muttered the younger gentleman behind the wheel.
“A maharajah, you ain’t,” quipped his older counterpart.
