Mulligan

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Mulligan Page 6

by K. G. MacGregor


  mountains.

  "Well I hope whoever it was

  doesn't think everyone up here is

  as crazy as you are," she chided.

  "I'm only crazy about you," the

  golf pro answered sweetly. "Let

  me grab a shower. What time are

  we supposed to be there tonight?"

  "About seven-thirty. You better

  hurry." They had been invited to

  dinner at the home of Carol and

  Joyce, two of Marty's longtime

  friends here in North Carolina.

  They were year-round residents

  of the High Country, Carol now

  retired from the local gas

  company and Joyce working at the

  Linville post office. Both were

  members at Elk Ridge, but Joyce's

  job made it hard for them to play

  during the week. Carol and Louise

  had played a few times together,

  usually paired up with another

  twosome when things got busy at

  the course.

  Twenty minutes later, Marty

  emerged from her shower, fresh

  and clean, wearing her best khaki

  shorts and the aloha shirt Katie

  had given her for Mother's Day.

  "Don't you look cute!"

  "I have to look cute when I go out

  with you. I don't want people to

  think you have bad taste."

  "Silly." Louise filled her dog's

  water bowl and bade him

  goodnight as Marty turned out the

  lights and waited at the front

  door. In no time, they were pulling

  into the drive at their friends'

  home, looking forward to a

  relaxing night of socializing.

  Carol and Joyce lived in a beautiful

  mountain home they had built

  themselves off Highway 105. The

  wrap-around deck offered a

  spectacular view of Grandfather

  Mountain, and it was here that

  they had dined this evening.

  "So have any of you had a chance

  to meet Charlene Rogers yet?"

  Joyce asked the group.

  "Who's that?" Carol asked.

  "She's from Winston-Salem. She

  came by the post office yesterday

  to sign up for a box. She said she

  was moving up here to play golf all

  summer and I asked her where.

  She told me she'd just joined at

  Elk Ridge."

  "I met her today. In fact, we play

  a round this afternoon," Marty

  answered innocently.

  "You better tighten her leash,

  Louise. Charlene Rogers is a

  looker, and I'd bet money she's

  on the prowl," Joyce warned.

  "I didn't get that from her at all,"

  the golf pro defended. "She just

  seemed really nice."

  "I don't think I have to worry

  about Marty," Louise kidded. "She doesn't like sleeping on the

  couch."

  "You're so whipped, Marty," Carol teased.

  "There could be worse things in

  this world, Carol."

  Later that night as the women got

  ready for bed, Louise brought up

  the subject of the newcomer from

  Winston-Salem. "So this Charlene

  Rogers, is she as pretty as Joyce

  says?"

  Marty shrugged, tossing her shirt

  on the bedside chair. "Yeah, she's

  attractive, I guess."

  Neither woman really noticed

  when Louise automatically

  retrieved the shirt and hung it

  back in the closet. Slipping up

  behind the cute little blonde, she

  wrapped her arms around Marty's

  waist just as she raised the

  nightshirt above her head. "So is

  Joyce right? Should I tighten

  your leash?" she growled playfully.

  "You know better than that, Lou,"

  she said defensively. As far as

  Marty was concerned, there would

  never be another temptation as

  long as she had Lou Stevens to

  come home to.

  "Yes, I do. I just know what a big

  flirt you are," she teased, biting

  into Marty's neck from behind.

  "I'd say you're the one who's

  being the flirt right now, Miss

  Stevens. You got something in

  mind?"

  "Why don't you lose that

  nightshirt and we'll see!"

  Louise really did like it here in

  North Carolina. She and Rhonda

  had visited several years ago in

  the summertime when Linda and

  Shirley had gotten that timeshare.

  How things had changed in her

  life since then!

  She still missed Rhonda from time

  to time, but Marty had taken care

  of that ache that was her constant

  companion after her lover had

  died. Her days with the impish

  golf pro were filled with laughter,

  good times, and a genuine love that

  warmed her soul.

  Louise wondered what Rhonda

  would think of Marty Beck. That

  was easy. Rhonda liked everybody,

  and she would have loved Marty's

  sense of humor. Funny, that was

  something the two had in common,

  though Louise sensed early on that

  Marty's had a more "adult" flavor, probably because she'd been

  around golfers all her life. Her

  language was certainly more

  colorful.

  She hadn't had any trouble finding

  things to do in this new place, but

  Louise had to admit that the days

  were sometimes pretty long when

  Marty was out on the course.

  That's why she looked forward to

  Mondays, when they played a

  round in the afternoon; to

  Wednesdays, when she played

  with Carol and had a chance to pop

  in at the clubhouse; and most of all

  to Fridays, when Marty had the

  day off.

  But today was Sunday, and the

  urge to see her sweetheart was

  almost more than she could stand.

  All she wanted was a quick hello

  and one of those patented Marty

  Beck grins.

  "I think I'll go hit a bucket of

  balls, Petie. Will you hold down the

  fort?"

  The terrier's ears went up, as

  they did each time he heard his

  name. But his mistress wasn't

  paying him any mind. No, she was

  wrestling with that clanging bag of

  sticks again. This was good,

  though. She always came home

  happy.

  The course was predictably

  crowded for the weekend, and

  that meant that Marty was

  probably working the counter or

  giving a lesson. Louise scanned the

  clubhouse for her lover before

  heading out to the range tees. Off

  to the left, the familiar blonde

  hair caught her eye. A man and a

  woman were working in tandem on

  their chip shots as the golf pro

  gave assistance. The tall woman

  smiled to herself, happy at once to

  see Marty doing what she loved.

  Louise emptied some of the range

  balls into the trough, selecting a
/>
  nine-iron to start.

  Smack!

  That felt pretty good.

  Smack!

  The ball dropped softly only a few

  feet from the 75-yard marker.

  Deciding not to press her luck,

  she tucked her iron away and

  extracted a fairway wood. These

  shots had been giving her a little

  trouble lately, and it would be

  good to work out the kinks in how

  she was following through.

  Smack!

  Topped it.

  Smack!

  That one didn't go straight at all.

  "You know, there's a 50-cent

  surcharge for every ball that

  leaves the driving range."

  Louise smiled at the familiar line,

  turning at once to see… to see

  Marty approach a woman she'd

  noticed earlier having a good deal

  of trouble making solid contact

  with the ball. The woman was quite

  attractive, but appeared to have

  had only minimal instruction in the

  game of golf.

  "Oh my! I'm so embarrassed. I

  can't seem to get in any sort of

  rhythm. I'm just terrible at this,"

  the woman gushed with obvious

  discomfiture.

  "No, you're not terrible at all. You

  just need a few pointers and some

  time to practice," the golf pro

  encouraged. "Here, let me show

  you a couple of things, Charlene."

  That must be Charlene Rogers,

  Louise thought.

  "I don't think anyone can help this

  lousy swing, Martha."

  "I told you. My friends call me

  Marty," the golf pro said, smiling

  as moved toward the golfer.

  At the other end of the mats, the

  tall woman grew steamed at the

  exchange. "My friends call me

  Marty. Won't you be my friend?"

  she muttered angrily.

  The golf pro stepped behind

  Charlene to help her find the

  right position for addressing the

  ball. An abrupt movement a few

  mats away caused her to look up,

  where she met glaring blue eyes

  that radiated both anger and hurt.

  "Hi, Lou!" Marty smiled tentatively, surprised at seeing her

  sweetheart here at the range.

  Louise shoved her club back into

  the bag forcefully and heaved it

  onto her shoulder. With dozens of

  balls scattered at her feet, the

  long-legged golfer stomped off in

  a huff.

  Oh shit! "Excuse me," Marty said

  to a baffled Charlene. "Lou, wait

  up!"

  "Mary Louise Stevens, you are

  such a fool," she chastised

  herself.

  "Lou," Marty panted breathlessly, finally catching her lover at the

  trunk of her car. "What is it?

  What's wrong?"

  "What's wrong? I'll tell you

  what's wrong, Martha Beck.

  What's wrong is that I fell for

  that silly little '50-cent surcharge'

  line just like apparently everybody

  else. I didn't know you had flirting

  down to such a routine."

  "Flirting? Lou, I wasn't flirting

  with that woman!"

  "Fine! You can call it something

  else if you want to, but I call 'em

  as I see 'em." Louise slammed her

  trunk emphatically, causing Marty

  to jump back.

  "Lou, come on! I give golf lessons

  for a living. It's important for me

  to be friendly, especially when I

  see people who could really use

  the help. I wasn't flirting." Marty

  vividly recalled pleading the same

  case time and again before Angela,

  almost word for word.

  Louise wanted to believe she was

  overreacting; wanted to think

  she'd just imagined something

  that wasn't there. But Marty had a

  history of fooling around; she'd

  said so herself. And Louise wasn't

  going to just ignore this when

  there was a chance she'd get her

  heart broken.

  "Marty, I think we'd better step

  back and see what's going on here.

  I don't want to find myself

  wearing Angela's shoes."

  The blonde woman's jaw dropped

  at the last remark. Angrily, she

  reached for the car door as

  Louise moved to pull it shut. "Now

  you wait a minute. How the hell did

  this get to be about that?"

  The tall woman jutted her chin out

  defiantly. She could be hurtful too.

  "Let me tell you something," Marty started, her face growing redder

  by the second. "In the first place,

  that was eight years ago. In the

  second place, I did that to Angela

  - not to you - so I don't have to

  answer to you for it. And in the

  third place," her green eyes were

  like lasers pinning Louise to her

  seat, "I didn't tell you about it so

  you could throw it in my face."

  With that last retort, Marty spun

  in the dirt and stormed off

  toward the pool of carts. She

  didn't dare go near another human

  being for fear of tearing off

  someone's head. Within moments,

  she commandeered a cart and

  wheeled out recklessly toward the

  first tee.

  Louise sat frozen in her car,

  stupefied at what had transpired.

  Okay, so what exactly had

  transpired? All she knew was that

  she'd been feeling on top of the

  world only 15 minutes ago, and now

  she felt like throwing up.

  Petie scampered out of the way of

  the flying newspaper. He couldn't

  remember ever seeing his

  mistress this angry, even when he

  used to… you know. "I'm sorry,

  baby. Come here." Louise bent

  down to pet the cowering dog.

  "You're my best friend, you know

  that?"

  Yeah, he knew. She was his too.

  "What am I going to do, Petie? I

  screwed up. She admitted to

  making a mistake, and told me how

  bad it made her feel. And I threw

  that right in her face, just like

  she said." Louise had berated

  herself for a whole day, not eating

  much and not sleeping well at all.

  Marty had come home at her usual

  time, but had gone straight into

  the guest room and locked the

  door without speaking. This

  morning, she was gone when Lou

  got up.

  Louise had played the whole thing

  over again and again in her head,

  and knew without a doubt that she

  was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  The Boston terrier looked at her

  sheepishly.

  "That's right. I need to

  apologize." Marty liked giving

  flowers, but she didn't seem like

  the type that would enjoy getting

  them. No, and besides, flowers

  wouldn't be near enough. When

  Rhonda got really mad, it always

  took jewelry.

  Jewelry! Hurriedly, Lo
uise went

  into the master bedroom and

  opened the bottom drawer in the

  bureau Marty had emptied for her

  things. Sifting through the golf

  shirts, she extracted the

  mahogany box that she had been

  afraid to leave behind in Florida.

  It held the collection of gold,

  silver, and jewels that Rhonda had

  worn through the years. Most of

  these items were chosen by

  Louise, given as gifts at

  Christmas, birthdays, and

  Valentine's Day.

  There! Louise studied the small

  gold lapel pin, only an inch and a

  half long, a lady golfer in the

  midst of her backswing. A tiny

  diamond chip represented the ball

  on the tee. She'd given the pin in

  Rhonda's Christmas stocking the

  year they'd both taken up golf.

  Her lover had worn it often, and it

  was one of Louise's favorites.

  No reason for this to sit in the

  dark box, she reasoned. If it

  weren't enough for a peace

  offering, she could always come

  back and get the small emerald

  earrings. Now wouldn't Marty look

  nice in those!

  The tall woman checked the clock:

  12:45. Technically, she and the

  cute little golf pro still had a tee

  time in 30 minutes. Louise

  wondered if she'd show.

  "Why don't you go beat the shit

  out of a bucket of balls, Marty?"

  Joe Baxter had had enough of his

  partner's surly disposition, now

  going on two days. Yesterday

  afternoon, she'd rearranged

  every single rack in the pro shop,

  so that he couldn't find a thing.

  This morning, she'd gone out on

  foot with a squirt bottle and a rag

  to clean the tee markers - all 108

  of them! Next, she'd probably

  want to pull out all the cups and

  wash them, or trim the greens

  with a razor.

  "I don't know, Joe. The way I'm

  feeling right now, that might not

  be such a good idea."

  "Maybe you ought to just take the

  day off. I can manage," he

  offered. They'd had a rush this

  morning around eight, but weren't

  expecting another crowd. Mondays

  were kind of slow.

  "Thanks, but I think I'd go nuts at

  home. But I'll try not to drive you

  crazy here, okay?"

  Marty was frustrated. She felt

  awful about the scene with Lou

  yesterday, and especially about

  going into the guest room and

  locking the door. No matter how

  bad things were, they needed to

  be able to talk, and she'd behaved

  pretty childishly. Still, she

  couldn't understand why Lou had

  gotten so upset. She needed to be

  outgoing and friendly in her job;

 

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