marker.
Smack!
Smack!
Darn it! Sixty yards with a nine-
iron!
"You know, this game’s got a lot of
funny rules, but there isn’t one
that says you can’t use a seven-
iron to get you 75 yards."
Louise roiled at the comment,
frustrated at her own loss of
distance, and further exasperated
by this stranger who suddenly
found her game so interesting.
Turning, she eyed her tormentor,
a short stocky woman of about 60,
with bright green eyes and a
shock of sun-bleached hair poking
every which way from the top of
her visor. The darkly tanned face,
arms and legs suggested that this
woman had spent many, many years
on Florida’s fairways.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all," the petite blonde
answered matter-of-factly.
"Usually, I get paid to say things
like that, but I have the discretion
to waive my fee in certain
circumstances."
"Perhaps you should save your
sage advice for someone who
wants to hear it so badly that
she’s willing to pay for it." She’d
be sort of cute if she weren’t so
arrogant!
"It’s your lead arm, by the way.
It’s not pulling through, so you’re
getting the slice from pushing the
ball with your trailing arm. If I
had to guess, I’d say you’ve had an
injury of some sort."
"You can tell that by my swing,
huh? The difference in the tan
didn’t give away the fact that I’ve
been wearing a cast on this arm
for the last six weeks?"
"Well now that you mention it…"
"Right. Now if you don’t mind, I’d
like to continue my rehabilitation,"
she said, emphasizing the last
word with no small measure of
sarcasm.
"Of course," the woman said, not
yet ready to walk away from this
intriguing newcomer. "By the way,
you have a beautiful…” face,
figure, behind, "… swing."
Louise turned around and dropped
her chin to her chest so that the
shower massager could send its
hot pulses to her aching shoulders
and neck. In retrospect, hitting
only a small bucket of balls would
have been a better idea, but she’d
felt ambitious when she arrived at
the range. Hopefully, the soreness
would be gone by tomorrow, and
she’d try it again.
Petie was quite confused at the
order of business today. His
mistress usually showered after
their walk, not before… and she’d
hardly spoken to him at breakfast,
her mind seemingly somewhere
else.
"Hmm… I wonder if…" Turning off
the water, Louise wrapped her
hair in a towel and quickly dried
off. Donning her robe again, she
walked into the study and booted
up the computer, twisting back and
forth impatiently in her office
chair as she waited for her icons
to appear. Four minutes later, she
had her answer.
"Martha Beck." The web site for
the Pine Island Country Club
boasted two pros, Jim Conrad and
one Martha Beck, the pompous
woman who had practically
accosted her at the driving range
yesterday. "Marty" had joined the staff at Pine Island 14 years ago.
"Probably when this picture was
made," Louise sneered, taking in
the photo of a much younger,
much thinner woman. Not that
Louise minded a few extra pounds
on a woman - Rhonda had been a
size 16. Deciding that she in fact
preferred the stockier version of
the little blonde pro, she caught
herself wondering why on earth it
mattered to her one whit whether
Martha Beck was skinny or stout.
Her muscle soreness gone by the
next day, Louise resumed her daily
routine. She’d been thinking for
two days about that rude woman,
the cute one with all those laugh
lines, the one who had
complimented her swing. It would
probably be a good idea to go hit
another bucket of balls…
Briefly, she contemplated going
somewhere besides the Pine
Island Golf Club so she would
avoid another encounter. Now that
would be silly, Louise concluded;
I’m a member there. So instead,
she showered and put on one of
her most flattering outfits, pulling
her collar-length salt and pepper
hair back; it was barely long
enough to clamp with a barrette.
She didn’t need the stylish straw
hat, as the range tees were
situated underneath a canopy, but
she looked good in it, so she wore
it anyway.
Louise walked into the pro shop at
exactly the same hour as she had
on Monday, proceeding to the
same set of covered tees, even
waiting for an older gentleman to
finish so she could use the same
mat.
Smack!
That slice wasn’t quite as
pronounced as it had been the
other day, but there still wasn’t
much distance.
Smack!
Slow down, she admonished
herself. What’s the big hurry?
The familiar voice of the golf pro
sounded, this time from behind
and directed at a woman of about
50 who obviously colored her dark
red hair and wore entirely too
much makeup.
"That’s it, follow through," the
blonde instructor encouraged.
"I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel
right," the woman whined. "Maybe
you could… show me again, you
know, holding the club with me?"
Louise picked that moment to
switch from her driver to her
five-iron, unable to resist a peek
at the personalized lesson the pro
was giving this Tammy Faye Baker
look-alike.
Settled behind the woman, the
short muscular arms reached
around and closed over the
woman’s hands as they gripped the
club. In tandem, they drew the
club overhead.
"That’s right, parallel to the
ground," she coached.
Together they swung through,
sweeping the club head in a
perfect arc past the trailing
shoulder.
"Just like that."
"That felt great," the woman
gushed. "Let’s do it again!"
"That felt great. Let’s do it again,"
Louise muttered in a low squeaky
voice.
Smack!
Now she was hooking her five-
iron.
Smack!
Smack!
Good distance, though. Louise was
hitting the ball harder than usual,
but she knew that she was pushing
it, not letting the club do the work.
Too much of that, and she’d be
sore again tomorrow.
Smack!
Smack!
"You know, we’re open till dark.
You can take your time if you
want."
"You again!" Why does this woman
always show up when I’m screwing
up?
"Now don’t get excited. I was
giving a lesson and saw you over
here. Thought I’d just say hello
and properly introduce myself. I’m
Martha Beck, Marty to my
friends."
"Hello, Martha." Louise
emphasized her choice of names.
She and Marty were not friends.
"Hi." Marty looked over her
shoulder at her struggling student,
then back at this beautiful woman
who didn’t like her yet. "Uh, nice
hat."
Smack!
Darn it!
It was Marty Beck’s nature to be
friendly and outgoing, but those
who were more serious sometimes
had trouble accepting her
offhanded sense of humor. She
also had a penchant for handing
out compliments right and left,
looking for something she liked in
everyone she met. That habit had
gotten her into trouble more times
than she could count, and had
eventually caused the ruin of her
relationship with Angela, who
simply didn’t trust that her
flirtations were innocent.
Of course, there was that one
time that they weren’t, and that
made all the others pretty hard to
accept.
On Friday morning - same mat,
same hat - Louise didn’t encounter
the annoying golf pro on the
driving range, though she did
catch a glimpse of her twice riding
by in a golf cart. The second time,
the little blonde was headed
toward the pro shop.
Louise hurriedly hit most of her
remaining balls, scuttling five or
six into the grass in front of the
tee. She entered the clubhouse
just in time to see the blonde blur
heading out the door on the other
side into the parking lot. Since she
didn’t really need anything from
the pro shop today, the tall woman
proceeded straight through,
exiting just in time to see Martha
get into a waiting car and plant a
kiss on the cheek of a younger
woman - a much younger woman!
People should act their age! Louise
groused, clacking across the
pavement in her spiked shoes.
"You really ought to come with us.
We’ve gone two years now, and
both times were so much fun."
Linda and Shirley implored Louise
to consider coming with them to
the Valentine’s Dance the next
Friday night. "There’ll be lots of
women there, many of them
single."
"I’m not looking to meet any single
women. I’m not ready for that sort
of thing." The way she’d been
missing Rhonda lately, Louise
sometimes doubted that she ever
would be ready.
"You should at least come and
make some friends. Wouldn’t it be
nice to get to know people who can
just pick up and go to the beach in
the afternoon, or who can run up
to Sarasota with you for the
symphony?"
Louise conceded that having
friends for just such occasions
would be nice, but she was
adamant that she didn’t want to
meet someone who had other
things in mind.
"But those other things…
sometimes, they just come along
when you aren’t looking," Shirley
suggested.
"Not for me, they don’t." Since
Rhonda died, there hadn’t been
anyone who was even remotely
interesting from a romantic
perspective. Well, except in an
odd sort of way… Now that’s just
ridiculous, Louise!
"By the way, Lou, we got a tee time
for Tuesday at 10. If you’re up for
a round, I’ll call out to the club and
see if they can find us a fourth."
"Yeah, I think I’d like that. But I
have to warn you that I’ve been
hitting the ball all over the place
since I got my cast off."
"You know, you ought to call Marty
Beck. She’s the golf pro over at
Pine Island, and she’s really good.
Family, too. I bet she could give
you a few pointers."
Louise stiffened, remembering
the sight of the golf pro getting
into the car with that… that child!
"I think I can manage just fine,"
she answered, barely able to
check the hostility she felt. "I just
have to get my strength back."
"Yeah, you’re probably right,"
Linda said, looking at her partner
curiously. What was that about?
"But if you change your mind…"
"I won’t."
Tuesday finally came and Louise
got a special thrill out of reading
that Greensburg was getting eight
to 10 inches of snow today. Here
in Cape Coral, they would hit 83
this afternoon,
For her first day back on the
links, Louise selected yet another
flattering outfit, this one a white
sleeveless shirt with red plaid
trim on the collar and shoulders to
match her long shorts. Again, she
pulled her hair back in a barrette
so it wouldn’t blow in her face,
this time adding a pair of gold
hoops and just a touch of lipstick.
The hat finished the look.
After a brief stop at the club
drop, Louise found a rare parking
place in the shade, next to a
familiar car. It was… yes, it was
the one Martha Beck had gotten
into last week. Obviously, her little
girlfriend was a golfer too.
Probably in the children’s league!
Not seeing Shirley’s station
wagon, Louise opted to wait inside
the clubhouse, that is, until she
spotted the cradle-robbing golf
pro behind the counter. Hoping to
avoid the unwelcome advice-
dispenser, she immediately
drifted into the racks of golf
shirts by the door. If the short
woman got distracted, she could
slip back out and wait for Linda
and Shirley, maybe even sending
them in with her green fee.
"You know, we have some women’s
clothing over on this side, if
you’re into that sort of thing, that
is."
Louise cringed at the annoying
voice.<
br />
"I was thinking about a gift," she shot back. "But never mind." She
really needed some golf socks, but
she’d be darned if she was going
to buy anything in here.
"Hi, Lou!" Linda breezed into the shop. "Shirley’s parking the car.
Hi, Marty," she grinned at the golf
pro, who had obviously just made
a very delightful connection.
"Why Linda, I didn’t know you and
Lou were such good friends."
Marty grinned back at the tall
woman, who was now slinking
deeper into the men’s wear.
"Oh, yeah, we go way back. We
taught in the same school district
up north. Say, did you get us a
fourth?"
"Sure did! She’s waiting for you
already at the driving range.
Name’s Pauline Rourke. Red hair,
extra makeup," she whispered the
last bit conspiratorially.
Louise blanched. Not that woman!
Indeed, Tammy Faye was her
partner today, and if that in itself
wasn’t bad enough, the woman
practically chanted every mantra
of golf mechanics on each and
every stroke. Line it up. Head
down. Eye on the ball. Left arm
straight. Follow through. See it in.
Her best hole all day was a double
bogey.
Louise was still slicing her driver
and hooking her long irons, but
her short game saved her. She’d
have played much better with new
socks.
At Pauline’s insistence, the
foursome stopped in the
clubhouse for a quick drink after
their mediocre round. Louise
admitted to herself that she liked
Pauline just fine, despite her
annoying golf habits and the
sometimes distracting abundance
of makeup. People did what they
did to feel good about themselves,
and that was more important than
anything else in the world.
"Isn’t that Marty Beck just the
cutest thing!" Pauline exclaimed.
"Marty’s great," Linda agreed.
"Don’t you think, Lou?" She had
been surprised to learn that the
two knew one another. Clearly,
Marty had taken a shine to their
tall, beautiful friend, but for some
reason, Louise was gruff and
disapproving when it came to the
little golf pro.
"She seems very… knowledgeable,"
Louise conceded.
"What can I get you ladies to
drink?" The server perched over
their table, familiar green eyes
smiling a welcome.
That’s her, Louise realized, the
one who picked up Marty - I mean
Martha - in the car last week. She
can’t be more than 25 years old!
"The first round’s on the house,
Mulligan Page 2
