by Jack Waddell
“Thank you, then, Meg. I’ll see you later, Bob. You all enjoy your dinner!” Charlie gave a little back handed wave and went off to look for his own table.
Meg looked at Sylvia and Lilith. “Your father has a grand plan afoot to win this year’s Calcutta and Billy Compton is part of it. Other parts of it are all very hush-hush, you know? But it is exciting. You’d never guess who he’s pairing Billy with. He’s so handsome and charming. He’s…”
Robert interrupted reaching out to touch her arm. “Now, Meg, hold on. Consider where we are, sweetheart.”
“Oh Robert, I wasn’t going to say anything!” She laughed and turned leaning toward the girls. “I’ll tell you all about him later,” she whispered. Picking up her menu she continued in full voice, “Now what shall we all have on this wonderful Mother’s Day you’re making so special for me?”
* * *
Conor took the bus out to Pasadena in the early afternoon. Michael had taken a rare day off and Mary was making him his favorite cobble – the bacon, sausage and potato stew he loved so much. Mary had told them that while their mothers were all gone they still wanted to celebrate the day because they had some special news to share with him. He walked the two blocks from the bus stop to their home, a garage that had been converted into a small bungalow behind a large square frame house. He turned down the driveway and came to their front door and knocked.
Mary opened the door. “Oh, Conor! You’re here!” She exclaimed excitedly. Turning her head she called out, “Michael! ‘Tis Conor!” Then she reached up to hug him and give him a kiss. ”Come in, come in. ‘Tis a sight for sore eyes you are.”
As Conor entered Michael emerged from the back of the house wearing a sleeveless undershirt, a newspaper in his hand. His large bright eyes lit up with his smile as a greeted his cousin.
“Conor! Welcome! Come on back to the kitchen. We’ve some coffee on and waiting for you.”
Michael and Conor took their seats at the kitchen table as Mary poured coffee and joined them. “So how are you?” Michael asked. “How is the caddying going for you these days? Making any money are you?”
Conor grinned. “You’re not to be believing my good fortune. I’ve not to carry a bag for the past week and I’ve made more than I do in two. ‘Tis almost a dream it ‘tis.” Conor went on to tell them about Robert Graves and Billy Compton and the Calcutta coming up the next weekend. He talked about the clothes he was able buy and the practicing he was able to do in the evenings and staying at the Bogey House and about playing with Billy on Mondays.
“Oh Conor, that’s wonderful,” Mary gushed. “We know you’re to be such a fine golfer. I’m sure you and Billy will do well. And good it is you’ve some money in your pocket for a change.”
Michael spoke up. “But it’s back to lugging the bags after your tournament? And what if you’re to finish in the money? Anything to be made?”
“Aye, I’m still a caddie once it’s over. And I don’t know if there’s to be any money if we do well. Especially since Mr. Graves has been so good to me a forehand. But maybe. And of course he still has to win the team in the auction.”
“Still ‘tis wonderful to hear you’ve some opportunity. You work hard and are surely to have earned it.” Mary said. “Now tell me when you’re to be staying at this Bogey House. I’ve heard about it. Sometimes they take food down there to the members, they do. And I’ll do the same when you tell me you’re to be staying there.”
“Thank you, Mary. I will. And ‘tis good of you to offer so.”
“Speaking of food, you must be hungry. Are you ready for some of your favorite cobble?” Mary offered.
Conor smiled broadly. “Aye that I am! I’ve been saving room all day.”
“Then eat we shall. Michael, help me set the table for our honored guest.”
“If he’s to be honored, then I’m to be fed! So ‘tis fine by me!”
Michael cleared the newspapers from the table and the two served up the food. As the three of them ate Conor noticed Mary picking at her plate. As they finished the meal, Conor spoke up. “Mary, this is fairly the best cobble a man could ever want. Thank you! But why is it you are to be having so little? This is wonderful. Are you to be feeling all right?”
Michael looked across at Mary. “Well, perhaps ‘tis time you told our cousin the news.”
Mary smiled shyly and looked down at her plate. “Aye. Well, we are to be blessed, Conor. You see Michael and I are to be having a baby. We wanted you to be the first to know.”
“A baby! Well Saints be praised! ‘Tis glorious news indeed!” Conor exclaimed as he rose from his chair to kiss Mary on the cheek. “You’re surely to be a wonderful mother!” Then he moved to Michael to shake his hand. “And you, you devil you. Imagine my cousin a father! I didn’t think you had it in you!”
“You always sold me short,” Michael laughed making his usual joke. “Now I think the occasion calls for a bit of the barley. What say you, cousin?”
“Aye, and we shall offer up a toast to fair Mary here – a beautiful mother to be on this splendid Mother’s Day!”
* * *
Annie always found it difficult to talk to her mother on the telephone. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother. She did. But her mother had a way of asking questions she didn’t want to answer. That wasn’t entirely her mother’s fault, she realized. She had always kept the intimate details of her life out of any conversations with her so, naturally, there were always questions that could open doors to truths she didn’t want to share. But it was Mother’s Day. So she made the call to Des Moines.
It was their standard Mother’s Day chat. They talked about the family scattered around Des Moines. They talked about her father and his practice and his golf. They talked about her mother’s students and her work at the library. They finally got around to the uncomfortable topics. How was Franklin? How were they doing? When were they going to start a family? When was she coming back for a visit? Annie lied. He was fine. They were fine. He was working hard on another screenplay. Yes, she wasn’t getting any younger. Perhaps they would start a family soon. Maybe after this project was finished they could make the trip. They finished the conversation exchanging “I love you’s” and promises to write each other. Annie hung the receiver on the hook and gave a soft sigh of relief.
She looked at the telephone for some time. She did want to talk to somebody. She needed to talk to somebody. She picked up the receiver and again asked the operator for a long distance line.
Her Aunt Louise in Chicago would listen. Louise had never married and had moved to the big city to pursue her career as a photographer. She established a small studio in the Loop where she did portraits and weddings and publicity shots. Occasionally she would wander the city with her camera taking candids and studies of people and places she would enter in exhibitions that over time had earned her a modicum of notoriety.
Louise had been special in Annie’s life because she understood her. They were kindred spirits – similar in their creative minds and their reticence in revealing too much emotion. So it was that when Annie called and Louise heard her voice on the other end she knew something must be up. She already had heard about Franklin and his infidelity and Annie’s work as his ghostwriter. Something besides her annual Mother’s Day greeting was behind this call.
After a short exchange – Louise catching her up on a few stories of her recent assignments – Annie interrupted her. She desperately missed her aunt and wished she could be sitting across her kitchen table now as they spoke.
“Auntie, I must tell you something, very much a secret, no one is to know.”
‘You can confide in me, dear. You know that.”
“ It is the most wonderful feeling – being in love, I mean – you see I’ve met someone.”
“Really? Who?”
“I met him playing golf. He’s wonderful. Really he is. Handsome, smart – but more than that there’s just something between us I can’t explain. He touches me in a way
no one else has ever done.”
“That sounds wonderful, dear. But there are the realities of your situation. You are still married to Franklin, you know. And despite everything about that cad, he is still your husband.”
“I know. I know. But that’s why I need to talk to you. I don’t know what to do about this. I’m just so overwhelmed by these thoughts of him, these feelings I have.”
“You say you met him playing golf. Who is he?”
“Well, that’s part of it, I’m afraid. He’s a caddie. He’s Irish… from Ireland. But he’s really much more than that. He owned a restaurant once, before the crash. So he’s not really a nobody. But still he makes no money.”
Louise hesitated. “I see.”
“No. I mean I don’t care about that. It’s who he is, not what he is that I’m in love with.”
“Well, dear, you must be careful. I think you need to make some decisions about Franklin before you go any further with this. If this is a true love you don’t want to muck it up on account you’re still being married to that beast.”
“Oh, I know you’re right. I do. But I can’t help it. I want him. I can feel he wants me. Nothing else matters to me right now.”
“True love is a wonderful thing. I know. I had one once myself. But I learned the hard way that it can be fragile. But if you feel the way you say you do, you mustn’t let it go. It’s too rare, too important in one’s life. I just want you to be careful. Think things through. Promise me you’ll do that, dear.”
“Yes, Auntie. I will. I know you’re right. I just know I love him. And I promise I will try to be careful.”
“Good. Now you must promise too to call me again soon. I’m worried about you. As good as this may seem, things could still go wrong. I want you to be happy. So you’ll call again, promise?
“Yes, Auntie, I promise.”
* * *
When Robert finished his dinner with his family he excused himself and made his way to the men’s grill where Charlie was standing at the bar smoking his cigar and sipping a brandy. “Hello, Charlie,” he said as he pulled out his own cigar and lit it. He motioned to the bartender to bring him the same.
“Bob, you old dog, I hear you’ve been up to some trickery… Billy’s Calcutta partner is a caddie. A real good golfer he tells me. But exactly how to you intend to get this by Leland?”
“I already have. The team’s entry has been accepted. I got the kid a membership over at Redlands. At least temporarily.” He winked and smiled. “We’re going to clean him up a bit too. I don’t think half the members will recognize him.”
“But the other half will. There’s going to be hell to pay over this, you mark my words.”
Robert took a long pull on his cigar and exhaled slowly. “I don’t care. The kid’s good. He’s a perfect match up with Billy. Different games but same low scores. It’s a winner. Besides, what are they going to do? Disqualify him? How can they when he’s a bona fide member somewhere and they’re playing at scratch? I mean the kid’s not a leper or anything.”
“Well, I hope you’re right. Because there’s more going on than you know with Billy.”
“How’s that?”
“We cut him loose today. No trust fund. No job. He’s on his own. Myrtle wanted it that way. He threw a fit but he’ll get over it. But he’s gonna need some money and soon. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to buy a quarter of the team from you – assuming you win the bid. If they finish in the money I’ll give him my share.” Despite cutting him loose, Charlie wanted Billy whole. He had a better chance of winning the Calcutta than finding a job.
“All right, I can handle that. May help the bidding to know that.”
“Just one thing. My offer is no good if that team gets disqualified because of the caddie. I’m not throwing money on anything that doesn’t have a chance at cashing in.”
“Fair enough.” Robert put his drink on the bar and extended his hand to Charlie. Charlie took it and they shook. “We have a deal.”
“Yes we do,” said Charlie raising his glass. “So here’s a toast to the next Biarritz Calcutta champions… my son and your poor Irish caddie.”
Robert grinned and picked up his glass and touched it to Charlie’s. “Your lips to God’s ears.”
* * *
Michael and Mary walked Conor to the door. She reached up and hugged him and gave him a kiss. "Connie 'tis always so good to see you," she said. "Thank you for coming to be hearing our news."
"Thank you for the cobble. 'Twas delicious it was. The best I ever had. And congratulations on being expecting. 'Tis a wonderful thing you're to be so blessed."
"Come back and see us soon. 'Tis always too long," she said.
Michael broke in. "Let me walk you back to the bus stop. I'm to be needing a little exercise after making such a pig of me self."
"Well, let's be off then," Conor said, bending down to kiss the top of Mary's head. "Thank you again dear Mary."
Mary stood in the door and watched the two walk down the driveway. They turned back and Conor gave her a wave that she returned. When she shut the door Michael spoke up. "Connie, you know that favor I asked of ye the other night?"
"The horse, you mean?"
"Aye. Well I found out they're to be running him this Saturday. Seventh race there in Tijuana. Big stakes race. It's a lock I'm telling you."
Conor watched the ground as they came out of the driveway and turned down the sidewalk. "Saturday, is it? This Saturday?"
"Aye. They're to be shipping him down there tomorrow."
"What time they running?"
"Post time is probably around three. Plenty of time if you leave early in the morning."
"I can't promise, Michael. But I'll try. There's just to be so much on my mind right now. What's his name again?"
"Copper Cal." Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded white envelope thick with small bills. "See here, 'tis all written down: Copper Cal, seventh race. I got a yard in here that's to be going on the nose."
Conor took the envelope and put it in his pocket. "And Mary is not to be knowing still?"
"No. And I don't want her to be worryin' in her condition. She'll be plenty happy enough when you come back with all the money."
Conor gave a small smile. "Well let us hope that's to be the case."
"And Connie? Be careful. Remember, all of it on the nose. And thank you."
(back to top)
Chapter 18
Conspiracy
Monday, May 12, 1930
The sky was decidedly undecided. Small charcoal clumps scudded low across the horizon traveling with the brisk westerly wind that had delivered them inland from the ocean. Just above them white wispy dry brush strokes hung suspended, barely moving. Further above still were majestic cumulonimbus towering high into the heavens, their tops piles of frothy Titian white, their bottoms sheared flat shadows of gray that painted their color onto the golf course. It might rain. Or it might not.
Conor waited for Billy all afternoon up around the pro shop. He didn't want to venture out onto the course without him given the chance of rain. So he putted and chipped at the practice green until his back began to ache. Then he took a break and went into the caddie yard and ate his usual roll and butter. It was getting late and he was hungry. The mountain of cobble he'd eaten the day before that once filled him now left his stomach stretched in emptiness.
He was restless waiting for Billy. It hadn't helped he'd had to endure the jibes of the other caddies playing that day. "Where you been? Why ain't you been loopin'?" "What? You waitin' for the rain before you go out?" "Your fancy boyfriend standin' you up?" "Don't know what you're practicin' for, you ain't playin' none." "Afraid of droppin' a few bucks to your old friends?" "You still here?”
He'd taken them all good naturedly with a smile and a shrug but they all added to his unease. He had too much to think about beside his partner's tardiness a
nd his friends' opinions. He finally decided Billy wasn't showing. It was too late. He left the yard and went back to the practice green to retrieve his bag. He'd play a few holes, skip some and make his way back to the west side of the course where he would stow the clubs at the Bogey House and call it a day.
The few holes he played he did not play well. He had no patience for the game and the on-again off-again sprinkles that had started in were annoying him. He gave up and walked straight to the fourteenth green and cut through the hedge. He went around to the back of the Bogey House and put his clubs and the shag bag on the cellar steps. He had just let the door down when he heard his name softly spoken. Startled, he reflexively jumped back a step and let out a "Whaaa!"
Then he saw Billy. Or what was left of him. His shirt was ripped open, the tails hanging out of his trousers, the knees muddied splotches. His lower lip was swollen and split. His left eye was nearly closed with a mouse growing fast beneath it. Dried blood still caked the corner of his mouth and the rim of one nostril. Billy gave a crooked smile, "Sorry, pal, didn't mean to scare you like that."
"Bejesus! What happened to you?"
"Long story. I'll tell you about it. Been waiting here all day for you to come down. Where were you?"
"Up at the clubhouse waiting for you."
"Well, I couldn't very well show up there like this, could I? Come on, let's go inside before somebody sees us."
Conor followed him around the house. They went through the front door and Billy closed and latched it behind them. He hobbled across the room and collapsed into the club chair. On the side table were a half empty bottle of scotch and an empty glass. He filled the glass. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asked holding the bottle up to Conor.
Conor took a seat on the couch. "No, I'm to be fine. Are you all right?"
"I'm okay. I'll heal. Just everything hurts like hell right now."
"'Tis looking that way. 'Twas a fight, is that so?
"Yeah. I wish I could say 'you should see the other guy.' But there were three of them."
"Glory. How was it to happen? Robbed were you?"
