The Girl Who Invented Romance Read Free Page B

Faith. “Let’s pick out romantic names.” Faith smiled happily, remembering romance plots and heroes who swung their women up on horses and took them to exotic locales and rescued them from danger. “Dirk,” said Faith. “Lance. Brandon. Nicholas.” She batted her eyelashes. Faith has wonderful eyes. Very large, sunk so there’s lots of room for various shades of eye shadow. Long naturally dark lashes that sweep her cheeks just like a romance book cover heroine’s.
    “Real people,” said Megan scornfully, “are not named Dirk. Let’s go all-American. Christopher. Michael. David.”
    I know a dozen Michaels, and I never tire of the name. I think it’s beautiful. I added another square to the Monopoly board and called it Michael. I gave him 9. Might as well have high stakes.
    “Stephen,” continued Megan, making her own squares now. “Josh. Mark. Alexander. Stanley.”
    “Stanley?” Faith demanded.
    “I used to have a cat named Stanley,” explained Megan. “We got him from the shelter and that was the name he came with. They were named alphabetically, like hurricanes.”
    Faith tore Stanley off the board. “Stanley is not a romantic name. I refuse to have him. With my luck I’d win Stanley and you’d win Lance.”
    Megan threw her Scottie dog at Faith.
    Faith flung her iron at Megan.
    “What are you two doing?” I said. “Fighting over Stanley? Stanley doesn’t exist.”
    “Sorry,” said Megan, handing the pieces back to Faith to set back down on GO. “I was just excited. I react that way to boys.” She started counting out money.
    “We’re not going to buy the boys,” said Faith.
    “No, but we’ll need cash for our dates,” said Megan. “My dates are going to be expensive. I’m expecting jet planes and five-star restaurants. And no bouquets of roses. I want diamonds.”
    I stared at my Monopoly board until my eyes went out of focus. The solid square of utilities and avenues shifted position and condensed, getting softer and rounder. My game board would not have right angles and sharp turns. It would be hearts. Perhaps a series of interlocking hearts.
    GO TO JAIL turned to lace and love.
    INCOME TAX became holding hands and candlelight.
    PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD was flowers and chocolates.
    I saw lettering: curlicues of antique script with hearts and flowers intertwined. Initials carved on trees. Notes on handmade paper and sweet secret messages on tiny cell phone screens.
    I saw romantic moments. Exchanges of the little prizes from the bottoms of cereal boxes and exchanges of gold bracelets engraved with names. Drives in the backseats of stretch limousines and drives in the front seats of fabulous sports cars. Balloon bouquets arriving at front doors and laughing couples airborne in hot-air balloon baskets. Sweet soft waltzes with one head on one shoulder, and hard, pounding crowds screaming at bands singing that one special song.
    “I’ll invent Romance: The Game of Love,” I said. It would be pink. Several shades of pink, rosy like the dawn of love. Perhaps the board itself would be scented.
    “I don’t know,” said Megan. “I think this is stupid. I’d rather play Monopoly, where at least you know what you’re after. With boys, who knows? And we can’t invent a board game of romance, because how would you win? How would you know when you ever got to the end of the game? What exactly is it that you’d win?”
    My board was now a mishmash of computer paper, bad drawings and overlapping strips of tape. Only in my mind was it laced with romance.
    “I’m going home,” said Megan. “I may call Jimmy up and yell at him till I feel better.”
    Faith slid off the bed. “I’m tired myself. I’ll see you tomorrow, Kelly.” She stretched, yawned and stretched again. She started to put away the Monopoly pieces for me but I put my fingertips on the board and held it down against the denim spread. I was still thinking.
    They had become bored as fast as they’d gotten interested,